The Heart of Edward Gray
by superfan92
Summary: One of them is dying and the other isn't taking it so well. With JohnxSherlock andSherlockxMolly


_I don't own Sherlock nor any of the characters, this is purely just written out of angst._

Five months. The doctor told him five months. The first month was silent; both men took time to process the meaning of those words. Sherlock coped by taking on as many cases as possible, John tagged along and was quiet. At night they would sit in the flat and John would type while Sherlock scoffed at the intelligence levels of the newspaper writers. Mrs. Hudson fussed more than usual, over both of them, and they both let her.  
>The second month they began talking, but not about the important things.<br>"Perhaps we should change the wallpaper," Sherlock said one evening.  
>"What?" John asked.<br>"Maybe a different color," Sherlock continued.  
>"You've never wanted to change anything about the apartment," John told him with a questioning look.<br>"I guess I've changed my mind," Sherlock shrugged as he went back to him newspaper.  
>"We can change it to anything you'd like," John offered.<br>"We should probably cover the bullet holes, I'm sure potential buyers wouldn't-"  
>"Sorry, what?" John asked closing his laptop.<br>"Potential buyers," Sherlock said, eyes cast at the floor.  
>"Why would someone be buying our flat?"<br>"Renting really," Sherlock corrected.  
>"You want to move out?" He asked.<br>"Not now, but after…" he trailed off.  
>"You think it'll be too hard for only one of us to live here?" John asked.<br>"I don't think it will feel right," Sherlock told him.  
>"And what of Mrs. Hudson? Leave her all alone?"<br>"Neither of us have to make a decision now, it was just a suggestion."  
>"We're not moving," John told him.<br>"Not together anyway," Sherlock whispered into his newspaper. John watched him for a long time as he read, studying every inch of his person so that he could memorize it. His soft eyes that always looked so haunted, his strong cheekbones that were the only part of him that made him look his age. His soft curly black hair that he so longed to run his fingers through. He marveled at the way he bit his lip as he read, he would miss that.  
>The third month John started crying. Not in public and not in front of Sherlock, but alone in his room he cried. He cried for Sherlock, he cried for Mrs. Hudson, for Lestrade, for anyone else this would affect, and for himself. He knew he was selfish to sink to such self pity without even thinking of what Sherlock must be going through. Little did he know Sherlock was in his own bedroom doing the exact same thing.<br>The fourth month they were sent on a case to Scotland, a last holiday as John saw it. After the case was solved the two sat in a restaurant eating. Neither man touched much of his food.  
>"Aren't you hungry?" John asked Sherlock.<br>"I don't have much of an appetite these days," Sherlock said.  
>"No, me neither," John said pushing food around with his fork.<br>"At least Lestrade's paying," Sherlock said hoping the light joke would lift some of the tension from the environment. John gave a quiet huff, but nothing more. When they returned to Baker Street things began to change. John went to bed on their first night back, Sherlock stayed up looking for another case, anything to keep his mind busy. He heard a strangled cry coming from the bedroom and practically dropped the laptop as he ran.  
>"John?" He asked as he watched him thrash around the bed in his sleep. "John," he repeated holding his friends arms back to calm him.<br>"No!" John cried as he shot up from the bed. His forehead was covered in sweat, though not from the nightmare.  
>"You're okay," Sherlock soothed as he looked into his friend's eyes.<br>"No," John whimpered as he rested his face against Sherlock's chest, "I'm not." This continued every night for weeks, the weaker John grew the worse the nightmares got. Three weeks later after Sherlock had calmed John down they were sitting on the bed watching each other.  
>"I don't want to lose you," John almost sounded ashamed as he admitted this to Sherlock.<br>"It's me who's losing you," Sherlock corrected.  
>"I suppose," John whispered contemplating his words.<br>"You need to rest," Sherlock told him as he stood and headed for the door.  
>"Please," John said grabbing his elbow, "stay." Sherlock stood rigid for a few moments trying to figure out what he meant, and then he understood. He was a scared dying man who needed his best friends comfort. Sherlock pulled the desk chair beside the bed and settled in.<br>"Goodnight Sherlock," John murmured into his pillow.  
>"Goodnight John," he said knowing he wouldn't be sleeping.<p>

The fifth month approached and Sherlock wanted nothing more than to rewind the calendar and go back to a week before it all started. When they were still Sherlock and John and nothing was ending their lives. No, ending John's life, only ruining his. What was that old poem his grandmum would read to him? Edward Gray, was it? "Here lies the body of Ellen Adair and the heart of Edward Gray" yes, that was what it would be like. John was weak, he could barely get out of bed some days, and he was so painfully thin. He couldn't keep down any of what Mrs. Hudson cooked and Sherlock couldn't bear to watch him wither away.  
>"He'll starve to death first," he had told Mycroft one night.<br>"I know this is hard for you Sherlock," Mycroft said placing a hand on his baby brother's shoulder.  
>"No you don't," Sherlock said shrugging him off and leaving his brother. Some days Sherlock would help John into his chair and he would sit and type. If Sherlock was desperately needed for a case he would even find himself talking to that bloody skull. He was alone one day, Sherlock was out and Mrs. Hudson was visiting one of her "male friends" when he first started talking to it.<br>"I'm scared," he began not looking at the thing, "I don't want to die. Do you think I do? Because I don't. My therapist would tell me to write all this down but who really gives a damn if I'm scared to die?" He was looking at the skull now, eyes searching into its hallow orbs. "There are so many things I never did, and so many that I would have never done. If I hadn't met him. If I hadn't been friends with Sherlock Holmes. Will you take care of him? Please, for me? He may act strong but I know him, he'll need someone…he'll need…." John stood up with more strength than he'd had in weeks and walked to the phone. It rang twice before she answered.  
>"John?" She asked worriedly.<br>"Molly," he whispered.  
>"Is everything alright?"<br>"Can you come over?" He asked.  
>"Of course, I'll be right there." She was over in less than twenty minutes and they sat side by side on the couch.<br>"Next to Mycroft and me, you're the only other person that I think he truly loves," John told her.  
>"He doesn't love me," Molly whispered looking down.<br>"Yes he does," John assured her.  
>"So what do you want me to do?"<br>"Please don't let him be alone, as much as he persists. I don't want him to be alone."  
>"Alright John," Molly said taking his shaking hand in her own, "I promise." She kissed his cheek before gathering her purse and heading out the door. As soon as she got outside the tears started.<br>Sherlock returned to find John asleep on the couch. Sherlock sighed and kneeled by his friend. He shook his shoulder gently causing a slight groan but he did not wake. Sherlock reached an arm under his back, the other under his leg and picked him up with ease. It frightened him how light John was in his arms. He carried him to his bedroom and laid him gently on the bed. He pulled the blanket to him and set beside him for a few minutes taking in the sound of his beating heart and breath rising and falling. He reached out a hand and stroked his forehead, to check his fever of course, and let it rest there a while. He jumped a little when he felt his phone buzzing in his pocket and left to answer it.  
>"Holmes," he said.<br>"Sherlock we need you," Lestrade's voice came from the other end.  
>"Not now," Sherlock told him.<br>"God, is he…"  
>"No," Sherlock assured him, "just not right now." He hung up the phone and went back to sit with John through the night. Lestrade put down the phone and shook his head as he walked back to the crime scene. It worried him how tired Sherlock sounded, the man who used to go days without sleep and still bounced around like a kid with ADD. This was physically exhausting him to his breaking point and there was nothing anyone could do.<br>The next morning John decided to get up, he fell right away. Molly began coming to stay with him while Sherlock and Mrs. Hudson were out.  
>"Thank you again," Sherlock said as he stood with Molly by the door.<br>"Of course, he's important to me too you know," she told him.  
>"You'll call if…"<br>"Of course," she promised. Back upstairs John was going through some pictures on his laptop he scrolled down to the first one taken of Sherlock and him. Mrs. Hudson had insisted she get a photo of both men outside their new flat. John of course was smiling while Sherlock stood beside him hands folded behind his back and a serious expression on his face. He moved on to another taken with that girl who had lost her rabbit. She was in the middle proudly holding a new bunny (they of course told her it was bluebell) while both men were on either side of her. Sherlock was smiling a true genuine smile in the picture, pleased with himself for making the young girl happy. He closed the laptop as he heard Molly coming up the stairs.  
>"Are you hungry?" She asked stopping in the entryway.<br>"No," he answered placing the laptop back on the table.  
>"Do you want to talk about anything?" She asked.<br>"I can't," he answered truthfully.  
>"I get it," she said placing a hand on his shoulder, "you look sad when he can't see, I understand that."<p>

It had been five months, five months of denial and anger and courage and sadness, but now their time was up. Sherlock had chosen that day to completely forget about how fast their time was going. He sat in the kitchen drinking coffee and reading John's old blog posts. At around noon he went into John's room to check on him.  
>"How are you-John?" He found him sitting up in bed, head resting against the wall and eyes closed. He was sickly pale and his veins were evident on his entire face. Sherlock hurried to him and shook his friend awake.<br>"Sherlock," John choked out.  
>"Do you want me to take you to the hospital?" Sherlock asked. John shook his head and reached for his friend's hand.<br>"I want to be here," he whispered with difficulty.  
>"What can I get you?" He asked desperately wanting to not see him in pain.<br>"Just you," he said squeezing his hand with as much strength as he had left inside him.  
>"Oh John," Sherlock cried choking back tears.<br>"It's okay, I won't judge," John said holding out his arm invitingly. Sherlock leaned into his friend's shoulder and cried. He clung to John with everything he had and refused to ever let him go. He made up his mind then that John was not going to die, he would not let him die. When Sherlock finally looked up he found John starring down at him with soft clouded eyes.  
>"I'm scared too," he admitted.<br>"I'm so sorry," Sherlock cried burying his face back into his shoulder.  
>"Hey," John whispered forcing him to look up, "me too." Sherlock rested his forehead against his and could feel John's pulse against his own chest.<br>"Don't sell the flat," John begged, "please just don't leave Mrs. Hudson. Maybe you could ask Mycroft or Molly to move in for a while if you-"  
>"I'm not selling it," Sherlock said reaching a hand to stroke John's cheek.<br>"Good." They held each other for hours, days it seemed like, but not long enough. Sherlock pulled away and studied the dying man. His breath was painfully shallow and his eyes were drooping, he knew he was only holding on for him.  
>"It's okay," Sherlock whispered stroking his hair, "you've done enough for me."<br>"No, you've done everything for me. You saved me," John told him.  
>"And you brought me back to life," Sherlock told him.<br>"I don't think I can…" His words slurred as his head rolled to the side and his eyes closed.  
>"John," Sherlock asked trying to wake him up, "John?" He cried alone in the apartment for twenty minutes. When he finally willed himself to look back at his friend he realized he looked no different than he had a week ago. Sherlock stood from the bed and leaned down to press a kiss to his forehead before leaving the room. Molly, Lestrade, and Mrs. Hudson were all standing in the living room. Sherlock nodded to the crowd and Mrs. Hudson suppressed a sob as she went to see or herself.<br>"Sherlock," Molly whispered as tears dropped from her own eyes. Sherlock walked over to her and wrapped his arms tightly around her. She was taken by surprise for a moment then returned the hug. Sherlock had to bend down to bury his face in her hair but he did anyway. Lestrade walked off to join Mrs. Hudson and say his own goodbyes.  
>The funeral was on a Monday, but it was all a blur to Sherlock. John's sister had a very lovely speech prepared, as did Mrs. Hudson. Afterwards he went back to the flat alone, sat in his chair and talked to John's empty one. At around midnight he got up and walked to the phone.<br>"Molly?" He asked as soon as she picked up, "I need you."

_Fin_

**Edward Gray **

SWEET Emma Moreland of yonder town  
>Met me walking on yonder way;<br>'And have you lost your heart?' she said;  
>'And are you married yet, Edward Gray?'<p>

Sweet Emma Moreland spoke to me;  
>Bitterly weeping I turn'd away:<br>'Sweet Emma Moreland, love no more  
>Can touch the heart of Edward Gray.<p>

'Ellen Adair she loved me well,  
>Against her father's and mother's will;<br>To-day I sat for an hour and wept  
>By Ellen's grave, on the windy hill.<p>

'Shy she was, and I thought her cold,  
>Thought her proud, and fled over the sea;<br>Fill'd I was with folly and spite,  
>When Ellen Adair was dying for me.<p>

'Cruel, cruel the words I said!  
>Cruelly came they back to-day:<br>You're too slight and fickle, I said,  
>To trouble the heart of Edward Gray.<p>

'There I put my face in the grass  
>Whisper'd, Listen to my despair;<br>I repent me of all I did;  
>Speak a little, Ellen Adair!<p>

'Then I took a pencil, and wrote  
>On the mossy stone, as I lay,<br>Here lies the body of Ellen Adair;  
>And here the heart of Edward Gray!<p>

'Love may come, and love may go,  
>And fly, like a bird, from tree to tree;<br>But I will love no more, no more,  
>Till Ellen Adair come back to me.<p>

'Bitterly wept I over the stone;  
>Bitterly weeping I turn'd away.<br>There lies the body of Ellen Adair!  
>And there the heart of Edward Gray!'<p>

_AN: Please Review if you love it or hate it. _


End file.
